


The Dark before the Dawn

by Zymm



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-04 13:58:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11556639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zymm/pseuds/Zymm
Summary: As the dark fate of Edoras approaches each day, Éowyn finds herself seeking a way out of the madness, a way to save her crumbling kingdom.Lord of the Rings AU in which Boromir doesn't die, but instead finds himself helping to rebuild one of Gondor's strongest allies.





	1. Chapter 1

Rohan was caught still in the deep hold of winter, chill winds invading every inch of the land. It crept into the houses, into the shops and the courts, settling into the bones of every Rohirrim citizen. It had made itself a resident of the lands for the past few months, and even deep into February, it showed no sign of ceasing its reign.  
The Meduseld was not exempt from the gruesome winter, either; the hall was freezing and oftentimes completely silent. What was once a bright, golden hall full of laughter and merrymaking had now fallen to the chill of winter. But, as Eowyn knew all too well, the mood of the great hall was not dampened only by the harsh weather.  
No, there was something far more sinister than a natural chill running through the halls. Every day her uncle and king grew weaker, the once intelligent and lively glow in his eyes reduced to a lifeless, blank stare. He never remembered Eowyn, the one he raised as if his own daughter. She’d learned many things from her uncle, including the beginnings of her training as a swordsman.  
But every time she would come to him, holding his hand and lightly speaking to him, he would furrow his brow and stare into the distance. The hopeful, gentle look on her face would dissolve with the clench of her heart. It took a toll on the shieldmaiden, for everyday she visited him, and everyday she would allow a seed of hope to grow in her heart, festering into a fully grown dream. Each day that dream of the past would be broken, shattered again and again, as her uncle muttered incoherent words to no one.  
The court of the Meduseld had also dissolved, as less and less guards greeted her. The numbers began to dwindle, and Eowyn wondered if they had been killed in battle, or perhaps murdered by the guidance of the king’s counsel. She had not been exposed to outright murder in her capital yet, but she often thought that the day must not be far off.  
And it was from such happenings that she found herself wandering the halls alone. In the past, it would’ve been unheard of for the young, beautiful Lady of Rohan to wander the halls without the watchful eye of a guard somewhat nearby. But in these times, she found that guards she had once known and often called upon were either fighting in her brother’s lead or had been mysteriously misplaced once again.  
It always happened, when she found herself trusting a member of the king’s guard too fondly. She meant no more than friendship, since that was what she desired- a companion in this misery. But she knew that he was there, always watching, and suddenly those few guards she confided in had become much fewer in number.  
Eowyn was not being watched by guards any longer, no, but that is not to say that she was not being watched. Because she knew- no, she could feel eyes upon her, the same lustful eyes that traced her every move, studied her every breath.  
Grima Wormtongue was a rather pitiful creature, wrought out of overwhelming desire for both lust and power, motivated by cruel intention. Eowyn would sometimes watch the worm himself, in a small, sad bit of rebellion; for once, she was the one doing the studying, the watching. And she would wonder if perhaps he were once handsome. He was all sharp, pale lines clothed in midnight-colored furs, and he had practically translucent eyes that would madly flit about the room. No, Eowyn decided, even if her vicious hatred towards him were gone, he would never attract her.  
He seemed to have little interest in attracting her, rather just a need to possess, to own, to control. Eowyn would feel his eyes tracing her and suddenly she was a porcelain doll, the prize of a possessive child. Grima was terribly skinny and weak in person, but he made her feel nonetheless like prey being stalked. It set her insides on fire, struggling with the overwhelming weight of helplessness.  
All of the past months had fallen upon her at once today, creating a firm crack in the composure she had built. She had been working, cultivating that sense of security for so long, hoping that it would persevere until the end of these trials. But once again, hope had left her even more damaged and disappointed.  
Her dear cousin, Theodred, had passed away from grievous wounds.  
Eowyn felt as if a part of her had passed with him, gone from her sometime in the night, and leaving her empty and broken. She had held his hand, caressing the calloused fingers of a warrior, whispering hopeful words to him. He had merely tossed and turned, muttering incoherent words as the poison spread through his body. Theodred would answer to no one, and his touch had began to burn, his body rejecting every source of safety.  
Eowyn did not cry once he passed, although her heart was throbbing, so much a pain that it was almost a physical ailment. She did not sob, until she was forced to face the father of Theodred, her own king and uncle.  
“My lord,” She whispered quietly, barely a noise and yet far too loud for the silence of the Meduseld. She held Theoden’s hand like a vise, hoping it would give her strength, though he had none to spare.  
“Your son, Theodred-” Eowyn told him, biting her bottom lip with such force that the coppery, familiar taste of blood began to invade her mouth. She was shaking, and Theoden had stopped his mutterings for a moment, completely still and silent.  
That awful, deceitful ray of hope had began to bloom in her once again, rising through the dark vines. He was listening, she was sure of it- he had broke his madness.  
“He has passed, my lord. We must act, and now.” Eowyn told him, her words fast and urgent, her breath short and laboured. “His death- it was by the hand of an orc-kind, and they have crossed into our land. They are pillaging, looting, burning-”  
She stopped to breath, getting far ahead of herself. But it was all futile, for Theoden had began his muttering ramblings once again, his glassy eyes staring into the dark corners of the Meduseld.  
That was the point in which Eowyn began to sob, her grief for her cousin’s murder and the past, present, and future state of her beloved country. She ran back to her cousin’s room, tears flooding her vision and harsh sobs escaping her. It must have been an awful, dreadful sight to any who saw- the White Lady of Rohan overcome by her grief, shallow cries coming against her will.  
But, of course, only one snake actually saw the sight, and one could not discern if he actually felt any hint of humane emotion in his heart.  
Eowyn had fallen to her cousin’s bedside, still grasping and squeezing his hand, as if hoping it would bring him back from death. She buried her face in the furs of the bed and sobbed, her chest heaving with the effort.  
He had crept up behind her, and though he did not try to touch her, her body still recoiled, flinching away from his mere presence.  
“Oh, he must have passed away in the night….” Grima said, his voice seemingly sad and grieving, although Eowyn could clearly hear the tone underneath, the mockery. Her blood boiled as she blinked away her tears, a sour look adorning her face.  
He continued to talk, his brow furrowed in some semblance of grief, trying to mirror Eowyn’s own emotions. It sickened her- was this all just a game? Just a show of power and example, some nasty exercise of ‘because I can’.  
“Quiet!” Eowyn hissed, finding her strength in the fire that ran through her veins. Her stomach was twisting, and she threatened to be sick by the overwhelming emotions.  
Grima faked a sense of hurt. “My lady, I mourn for the loss of your dear cousin and my prince-”  
“You speak nothing but lies, you snake.” Eowyn said, her hands shaking. He took a step closer, the same translucent look upon his face still. Eowyn stood her ground, the shieldmaiden in herself rising to the rare occasion. It was a silenced tension between the two, quiet save for the shudder of her breathing.  
“I am hurt at your callous words, my lady.” Grima said, putting yet another mask over himself, adorning a soft look for the Lady of Rohan. It disgusted her.  
“I know you bring nothing but sinister intentions to my lands,” Eowyn said, her voice but a harsh, violent whisper between them. His innocent facade crumbled ever so slightly to hear her admit her inner thoughts, but they were quickly rebuilt by another faked emotion. He was a master at the skill, of building and cultivating the appearance of humanity.  
“You seek only to destroy it, to see Rohan before your feet.” She hissed.  
In an instant he had grabbed her wrist, much faster than she had thought possible. And his grip was like that of a snake constricting its next meal, an iron grip around her wrist. It caught her off guard, and she could not hold back the exposed gasp that escaped.  
“My lady,” Grima spoke to her, but gone was the masterful skill of deceit, and it was rather replaced with the fake imitation. He no longer sought to hide, but rather to mock the fact that it mattered not if he played pretend good with her.  
He yanked her closer to himself, to where they were almost touching, just a few mere inches apart. Eowyn was frozen to the spot, horrified at what she had broken in the man.  
“I do all for the glory of Rohan, for the renown of the horse lords.” He told her, each word a spiteful, hissed emphasis. And with that, he forced himself upon her, smothering her lips with his own.  
Eowyn had thought herself untouchable, had lived a life that had never once indicated otherwise; she had assumed that no matter what hardships, she would be watched over.  
But, as always, the hope never lasted long.  
She is pushing him away in an instant, the taste of coppery blood on her lips- she must’ve bitten the wound again, or perhaps he had- but it mattered not in that moment.  
“You snake!” She screamed, shoving his slender frame away from her own, desperate to put distance between the worm and herself. He had kissed her- no, he had forced her, with her newly passed cousin not a foot away from her side.  
She wanted her hands around his throat, her nails embedded in his skin, his blood upon her fingertips. For every sin he had committed on her lands, every sin he had forced upon her.  
In the midst of the moment, he was lightly grinning, a sinister, wicked elation that barely touched his face. The look left his appearance once Eowyn connected her fist with the side of his face, sending Grima to the floor.  
Cradling her aching fist, Eowyn dropped to her knees, a deadly look in her eyes as she took pleasure in the sight. The counselor of Rohan, brought to the dirty floor by the swing of a shieldmaiden. She longed in that moment to do much worse, and the hatred disturbed her.  
Eowyn spat out blood on his cloaks, disgusted and dishonored.  
“Do not think,” Eowyn said, her voice calm and quiet ,”that I will not kill you.”  
His face was blank as he watched her calmly leave the room, leaving him alone with the body of prince Theoden, and the taste of copper on his tongue.

\--------------------

 

Instead of seeking the refuge of her quarters, Eowyn found her feet possessed by action. She was leaving the main quarters of the Meduseld, finding herself leaving the great hall altogether.  
The cold, crisp air of winter hit her even harder than it had inside, going straight through the silk of her gown and finding a home in her bones. She grimaced, despite the larger problems plaguing her thoughts.  
She found who she was looking for near the poor flag of Rohan that sat atop the terrace of Meduseld. He looked back at Eowyn with the same grim, laboured expression that she wore upon her own features.  
“Hama,” She breathed, a sigh of relief. She felt little comfort from his presence, but comfort nonetheless.  
“My lady?” He asked, bowing slightly to her, though he knew she disliked the gesture. She could not bring herself to care in that moment.  
“I ask a favor.” Eowyn admitted, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt somewhat like she were indulging a fear that would never happen- but, if her altercation with the snake was any indication, the game had taken a drastic turn.  
“I know you have few to spare, but I request a guard outside of my quarters.” Eowyn told him, her face flushing with the question. She knew it was so much to ask from the king’s guard, due to the thin numbers and the current happenings. Eowyn also knew that she would not sleep until she felt a form of safety.  
The head of the king’s guard took her request, nodding as his brows furrowed, throwing around the options in his mind. He looked over Edoras while he thought, watching the townspeople walk quietly through the streets, under the same spell that held the Meduseld.  
“I would not normally inquire as to why, my lady, but with the guard spread so thin among the land-” Hama began, a conflicted look painted across his features.  
“I believe you already know why.” Eowyn responded, her voice grave. Hama winced, squeezing his eyes shut in a grimace. Grima’s lustful eyes had never shown any semblance of modesty; no, he made it abundantly clear to any soul what he desired, and he dared any to take it from him.  
“Has the situation become dire?” Hama asked once again, but not unkindly; his inquiry had stopped, but instead been replaced with concern. Eowyn had known the doorward and head of guard all her life, seeing him as some sort of fatherly figure in the Meduseld. Their relationship went beyond a simple court interaction, and instead had became friendship.  
“He-” Eowyn started, but suddenly the words stuck in her throat. The word kiss no longer felt right- she was no hopeless romantic, but a kiss had always been something sweet, something innocent and pure in her mind since childhood. What Grima forced upon her was no kiss, but she knew no other expression to used.  
“He kissed me, without my consent.” Eowyn muttered out, the words grating at her heart. It felt nasty, unwholesome to admit, and she worried that Hama would think less of her.  
Instead, the man had come alight with a fire inside him, some emotion Eowyn had never seen the gentle man express.  
“Yes, my lady, I will gather a few of the guards I trust and we will be outside your quarters at all hours.” Hama said strongly, his mouth a thin line and his brows furrowed with anger.  
“Thank you, bless you Hama.” Eowyn said, relief flowing through her words. She thought to even hug the man, though it seemed unfit for the moment.  
He had still not put aside the fiery expression on his face, and it worried her for a moment- had she asked too much?  
“My lady, when Eomer returns, we will rid Rohan of this snake.” Hama snarled quietly, keeping his words quiet but barely contained. He was furious, grieving for his prince and now angered by the news of a predator. Eowyn nodded, her expression just a fierce in the moment. She did, however, swallow down the small bit of hope that threatened to bloom once again in her heart.  
Hope was not a thing to entertain in such cold, dreary winters.


	2. Chapter 2

    Sleep, though always welcome and attractive, was a difficult  action to accomplish in the Meduseld. Even with tired bones, weary joints, and a dull mind, Eowyn found that a restful night’s sleep was practically impossible. She tossed and turned, throwing her thick furs off and then deciding to pull them back a few moments later. She wanted to leave her window open, to let the cool, biting winter air into her quarters, but she dare not open it more than a crack.  
    Eowyn's only security was the quiet shuffling of the guard outside of her door; if she strained hard enough, she could barely hear the sound of breathing. It brought her some mild level of comfort, some nice thought that if she were to sleep, she would be safe to do so.  
But restful sleep never came, save for the few moments of quick slumber. The sun was beginning to rise over the city, over the wide plains of Rohan, just beginning to tease the frame of her window. She thought to draw the curtains, but found little use in it. She knew that there would be no sleep.  
    Her maid knocked on her door not long after, a quiet, polite knock that was easily known. She always seemed unsure of herself, cautious towards Eowyn, as if the Lady were an animal quick to strike. She was a new handmaiden, since the last had been easily excused from service. Eowyn presumed that she had become too friendly towards the last bunch, which had left Grima no choice but to heighten her misery.  
    “Oh, I apologize, m’lady. I did not know you were already awake, or I would have come sooner…” The fidgeting maid said, her young face marred with guilt. Eowyn brushed away her worries.  
    "It is fine, Odelyn. I did not find much rest last night.” She admitted, brushing away her tangled blankets. Though exhausted, Eowyn found relief in leaving her quarters for time among the living.  
    “I have news, from the doorward.” Odelyn told her in a breathless sigh, glancing around the room with nervous eyes. She acted as if she expected to see a spy, hunched in the corners of the Lady’s quarters, ears awaiting some tale of treason.  
    “Do speak!” Eowyn responded quickly, her heart already aflame and her stomach in knots. Surely it was good news, for Hama would have made action had the situation became more grim.  
    “It is your brother,” Odelyn whispered. She was still nervous as a skittish cat, and her slow speech was irritating Eowyn to no end.  
    "What about him?” She urged, grabbing the maiden’s shoulder, making her jump as if struck. Eowyn felt a bit of remorse- Odelyn was young, not yet past fifteen years, and she had little experience with the ways of the world.  
    “He has returned, after hearing the death of the prince. Hama told me that he requests to see you, but the king’s counsellor- he did not want you to know.” Odelyn responded nervously, and Eowyn noticed that the young maid’s hands were trembling, and it was obvious the guilt she felt towards her leaders. Eowyn wanted to shake her, to force her to realize the dark future of Rohan at the hands of the wicked; but it was futile. Such a young mind, so easily imprinted on by those who demanded authority.  
    “Thank you, Odelyn. I know it must trouble you to deliver the message to me.” Eowyn thanked her, nodding her head to the young woman. It seemed to calm her some, and she began to engage in her regular duties, laying out the Lady’s dressing gown for the day.

\-----------------

    Breakfast was another grim task, though that was to be expected of any event in the Meduseld. Eowyn felt her appetite disappear as nervousness ate away at her insides, leaving her worried and sickened. She was amazed that Grima had not commented on her current, distressed state, for the man was extremely attentive and perceptive. But instead she found his eyes watching her with a faint smirk on his normal grimace, mocking her, daring her to defy him again. It set aflame anger inside of her, mingling with the foreboding dread and nervousness she had already been struggling with.  
    And so breakfast ended with little more than polite exchanges among the table of miserable companions. Few ate, and those that did ate out of fear. Any sort of abnormal behavior was ground for investigation, which was usually followed by some sort of expulsion. What counted under the term ‘expulsion’ was unknown to many, and feared by all.  
Eowyn was relieved when the tension-filled meal ended, and she excused herself to continue her studies. In an attempt to tame her in better days, Theoden had requested that she learn the violin.  
    “It is very maiden-like, and beautiful to all. It would be a nice alternative to dirtying your dresses in the fields.” Her uncle had said, a small smile on his kingly features. He had not meant to hurt her by the words, but simply to guide her away from the shieldmaiden lifestyle she longed to fulfill. Eowyn had grinned back at him, pushing back at his proposition.  
    “But, m’lord, I am perfectly maiden-like in my own skin.” Eowyn had announced, fanning out the muddied edges of her gown, proudly showing the injuries her dress had sustained during her afternoon ride.  
    Theoden had laughed, a hearty, golden sound that filled the hall.  
It was a much brighter, simpler time, and Eowyn missed it with all of her being. Of course, Theoden had forced her to pursue the instrument, and Eowyn did not mind completely. It was only until Grima had prompted her instructor to lengthen the lessons and practice hours, then she had began to hate the instrument, for what it stood for. He had lengthened her time with the instrument in hopes of deterring her from her shieldmaiden lifestyle and her romps around the land of the Rohirrim. And for that, she hated him more.

But, of course, she was not attending lessons today, and she wondered if she ever would again.

\------------------

    Eowyn was a shieldmaiden, above all things, and she prided herself on the sharp accuracy of her swings and her agility in battle. She’d even had her own Rohirrim soldiers comment on the talent she possessed, and more than one man had teased Eomer of being outdone by his little sister.  
    But being a shieldmaiden did not give her the accuracy of throwing stones.  
    No, she was quite terrible at that, and her current predicament only strengthened that acknowledgement. She threw stone after stone, trying to hit her brother’s window, but only managing to scrape the sides of the building framing his window. She wished she were one of the agile, marksmen elves she had read about in her youth. If she had that, she could very well jump to her brother’s quarters.  
    Giving another nervous glance around her surroundings, she threw another stone, this one hitting the edge of his window with a loud ding. She held her breath.  
    But her brother did not answer her call, and so she instead threw another.  
    Still no response, and so she threw another stone to take the place of the others.  
    Eowyn reached down to grab another pebble, aiming carefully, when her brother opened his window, pushing aside the thick curtains.  
    “Put that down, woman!” Eomer hissed angrily, looking down at the sight of his sister, ready to land a pebble between his brows.  
    "Eomer!” She exclaimed, overcome with emotion at the sight of her elder brother. He was not in the best of shape, rather disheveled and tired, but his presence was welcome nonetheless. He was alive, and still had his mind intact- the only one of her kin she had in that moment.  
    “Quiet!” Eomer yelled back, but there was a grin stretching across his face, a happiness he was unable to fully stop.  
    “Let down a rope, brother.” Eowyn responded. “Or your hair, for I’m sure it has grown long enough. It is whatever you choose.”  
    Eomer scowled at her taunt, his cheeks turning a rusty shade of red. He wanted to bicker with her more, perhaps make her wait and beg his forgiveness before he offered help. But though they were happy to see one another, and eager to confide in safety, he knew that it was all a mirage. It was an illusion of security and safety brought on by their reunion.  
    He found himself pulling his sister up by a rope, and had the situation been different, he would’ve laughed at the situation. It was as if they were both children again, performing various antics and mischief at the expense of the court.  
    “You are not as light as you seem, Eowyn.” Eomer told her once he had pulled her inside, pretending to be inconvenienced by her plan. Instead of a usual sharp, teasing remark, he found his sister hugging him tightly, her golden hair tickling his chin.  
    They said nothing for a few moments, both elated in their reunion, happy to have found solace once again. It was as if the evil in Rohan had passed in those moments, as if nothing could stand in the way of kin.  
    “Things have grown dark here.” Eowyn told him after parting, her face concerned and drained of hope, truly expecting the worse.              “Grima, he- he grows worse by the day, and more confident in each action. I know not what he seeks, except for the ruin of Rohan.”  
    “That snake.” Eomer hissed, clenching his fists as he dropped into a chair near his study. Eowyn noticed the new wounds that marred his arms, the new lines around his face. He had faced many troubles in the plains, and that worried her even further.  
    “I leave Edoras, hoping that Grima would not continue his path.” Eomer told her, gritting his teeth together. “Before Theoden and I had left, it was not a dire situation. The issues in other settlements called for the attention of the Riddermark first. I did not expect Edoras to wither.”  
    “Nor did I.” Eowyn said spitefully, hate on her tongue. “Theoden has worsened, and Grima has sought to control every living soul in the Meduseld. Hama has been my only loyal friend, and for that I thank him.”  
    “Grima, does he pursue you?” Eomer asked suddenly, looking up from his position in his chair. His fists had opened up, his face now guarded and inquisitive. He seemed dangerous, unstable in that moment, and Eowyn found herself uneasy. Her brother, he oftentimes became possessed by his emotions, by his heart. If he knew of Grima’s actions, his control, he would not hesitate to kill the man, driven by anger and pride.  
    And for that reason, she lied.  
    “No, I have not been in contact with him without the presence of guards.” Eowyn told her brother smoothly, and she was surprised at the fluidity of her lie. Prompted by fear, anger, and hatred, Eowyn had began a change of her own.  
    “Thank the gods.” Eomer spat, shaking his head. “He watches you with disgusting longing, and had you not been my sister, I would be worried that he would pursue you further.”  
    Eowyn felt her heart drop, possessed by some dark feeling of failure. She was a shieldmaiden, a breed of the strongest women in the land. She was trained by the sword, invigorated by the skill of the Riddermark, and yet she could not keep a worm from kissing her when he pleased.  
    Perhaps she was undeserving of her title.  
    Or, she thought instantaneously, without a second pondering on the matter, she could make him truly pay for his insolent actions next time he pursued her.  
    “And Theodred, my poor cousin.” Eomer said, suddenly overwhelmed with an onslaught of emotions, tears rising to his eyes. He had loved Theodred like a brother, and found him just as close as Eowyn.  
    Eowyn bit her tongue; she wanted to tell Eomer of her suspicion, of her ideas. She was convinced Grima had a hand in the death of their beloved cousin, and she knew that if she investigated the matter more, she could easily find an answer to her question.  
    She also knew that if she told Eomer of her suspicion, he would kill Grima in a heartbeat, letting his blood stain the floors of the Meduseld. Eowyn’s heart jumped at the prospect, the idea of the snake forever banished from the lands, of glory being restored to Rohan.  
    But just as the dark thoughts had entered her head, she banished them, appalled at their sudden creation. Eowyn was no murderer, and she was not one to play her kin or court like puppets to accomplish her goals.  
    There was still some part in her that ached with bloodlust.  
    "Eowyn?” Eomer asked, noticing the distance look on his sister’s face. His brow furrowed, taken away from his lamenting of Theodred’s death. “You look unwell. Are you sick?”  
    "No, no- I am fine.” Eowyn assured him. She would push the thoughts away for now, storing them in a corner of her mind for later use. “Now, tell me of your travels.”  
    “Oh, Eowyn. It is miserable. So many settlements have fallen to the orc-kind.” Eomer told her, his expression pained. “They are looted, burned, raped. We still know little of these orcs, or their motivation. We track them through the lands, but we are never fast enough, for they are like animals- unpredictable, savage, and without mercy.”  
    “And to come back to the jewel of Rohan and see it being destroyed by Wormtongue.” He scoffed.  
    "Do we wait? Do we sit here, waiting for Edoras to burn, whether it be by these orcs or by the savages internally?” Eowyn asked, turning hostile in a moment, The news of Eomer’s journeys had only soured her mood and destroyed her hope even further.  
    “I do not know.” He answered, his voice defeated and tired. “But we will not give Theodred his proper funeral until our capital is restored and our king in his right mind.”  
    “I fear that it is all hopeless.” Eowyn whispered, dropping onto her brother’s bed, fisting the fur pelts in her hands.

\----------------

    Eowyn found herself drifting off into sleep that evening, motivated by the pure exhaustion in her bones and the comforting presence of her brother in the household. It had allowed her to melt among the furs, greeting sleep with open arms.  
    Dinner that evening had not been too miserable, for Eomer had dined with them. They were not near each other in the hall, though Eowyn had attempted to sit among her kin. She was ushered away from him for various excuses, spoken by the mouths of those loyal to Grima and his evil cause. Technically, Eowyn and Eomer were supposed to have reunited for the first time that night at supper, per the controlling hand of the king’s counsellor.  
    The safety of her brother calmed her at dinner, and allowed her to finally dine like a lady of Rohan should; she wasn’t sure the last time she had ate a full meal in the hall. But Eomer had given her hope, though she did not know why.  
    With a fully belly and a somewhat lightened spirit, Eowyn had began her slumber. It was shortly interrupted by the quiet cries of her handmaiden.  
    Little hands had grasped her shoulder, shaking her fiercely. Eowyn had woken with a start, reaching for the dagger under her pillow. She had already aimed for the neck, ready to attack and injure, as she planned for the worse.  
    “It is me, Odelyn!” Her handmaiden hissed, terrified at the blade in her Lady’s hand. Her brown eyes were wide, filling with tears, her little frame shaking with terror. Eowyn’s heart clenched.  
    “Your brother has been banished from Edoras,” Odelyn hissed quickly, her words flying from her mouth with little thought to nicety or comfort. Eowyn stopped breathing, her heart falling to her feet. She felt her mouth moving, but barely registered the words, her whole being numb with disbelief.  
    “Why? Why would this happen? Who would do this to him? He is loved in this court-” Eowyn had mumbled, to herself more than her frightened maid, almost forgetting about the darkness that had plagued Rohan and its court for months.  
    “I do not know much, for I only heard quick words of their exchange and then witnessed his banishment.” Odelyn said.  
    “It was the snake then?” Eowyn asked, tears falling on her cheeks angrily, her eyes alight with hatred and fury. She pressed her fingertips into the palm of her hand, drawing crescent-shaped marks into the pristine skin. “The counsellor, the Wormtongue. He did this.”  
    “Yes.” Odelyn nodded, her brow furrowed with worry and uncertainty. “They were fighting about you, about the state of the kingdom. Eomer asked about his real purpose here, and when I heard them next the prince was being dragged from the steps of the Meduseld.”  
    “He was dragged?” Eowyn asked, horrified. More tears tickled her eyes, her mouth agape with a stunned anger. They dragged him- the princely, noble Eomer- from his castle, leaving him to leave his rightful home. To have dragged him, they must have hurt him beforehand, for her brother would have taken the situation with furious dignity. Eowyn wished she were there, to tear the worm’s eyes from his head and the tongue from his mouth, to repent him of his sins immediately. He had disgraced their family too far, and the banishment of her brother, tall, fair, and kingly, was too much for her to bear.  
    “They hurt him.” Eowyn said quietly, her voice trembling.  
    “I am so sorry m’lady.” Odelyn said, her words becoming incoherent as she sobbed, pressing her hands into her eyes, her shoulders shaking violently. “I did not think he would go as far as to banish your brother. It was disturbing to view, and the notion was even harder to grasp.”  
    “No, you did the right thing, coming to tell me, Odelyn.” Eowyn assured her. “I know that your loyalties are not as distinct as mine have become; but surely you now know the aggressor in this situation.”  
    Odelyn said nothing, just crying into her palms, barely holding back her sobs. The scene must have disturbed the young maid immensely, and it only angered Eowyn further. She imagined how dire it must’ve been- was he covered in blood? Limping? Unconscious as they threw him amongst the stables, leaving him to gather his steed as he went?  
    A thought sprang to the front of her mind.  
    “Odelyn,” Eowyn said, gently disturbing the girl from her misery. She blinked up at her Lady with reddened eyes, sniffling away her cries.  
    "I am sorry, I am so overcome with grief-” Odelyn attempted to apologize.  
    “No, it is not that. My brother, how long ago was he banished?”  
    “I came to your quarters immediately after.” Odelyn told her.  
    Eowyn was leaping to her feet.

\-------------------

    With the rest of the Meduseld distracted, Eowyn found it easy to slip out the many passageways hidden around the great hall. She had brushed off one of Hama’s guards as she exited her room, and instead urged her feet to go as fast as her racing mind.  
    She barely noticed the cold, sharp grass under her feet, or the biting chill of the winter eve on her bare arms. She wore nothing but her sleeping gown, and had she not been in such a dire situation, she would’ve felt at least slightly embarrassed at her immodesty.  
    Eowyn knew every path to the stables, from her many years of sneaking around Edoras unseen. It took her no more than fifteen minutes to dash to the large, wooden shelter, and even less to slip in through the back.  
    Eowyn rushed past the stalls, past the plaques with names and dedications, past the supplies and the few small stable boys that only saw a flash of white dressing gown, and a head of golden hair.          She knew her brother’s stall by heart, and she approached with baited breath, unsure of the presence of a horse or not.  
Eomer would know, she told herself. If he were banished, he would know my maid would tell me, and he would wait for me. There was no possibility that her brother would leave her amongst the wolves of the Meduseld, amongst a withering city and its misery. He would have waited for her eagerly, would be attending to her mount quickly for her arrival, or at the least, be making room for her on his steed.  
    But she approached Firefoot’s stall, and found the enclosure empty and devoid of any tools, any gear or food. It is no worry, she assured herself, he would be waiting in her horse’s stall to escape with her.  
    How foolish of her to forget her shoes, or a cloak! She shook her head at her stupidity, knowing that her brother would be aggravated at her appearance.  
    “It is as if you think yourself some princess that need care at every occasion.” Eomer would said, turning his nose up at his sister, all with jest in his heart.  
She entered Windfola’s stall, but found it devoid of her brother’s presence.  
    Her heart stopped, the breath stolen from her lungs.  
    Her legs were weak, numb from the cold and her sudden onslaught of emotions. Eowyn barely felt her knees hit the hay, hard. She looked at the hay around her legs, felt the silence in the stables. She refused to accept the reality in that moment, for her mind could not understand the concept. Eomer would never leave her, not willingly.  
    But he was gone, just the memory of him left behind in his wake. He had not taken her with him, but instead left her to rot in the miserable graveyard of Edoras, to walk among its people like one of the dead.  
    Eowyn buried her face in the hay, inhaling the scent of horse, the remembrance of her people. And she began to sob, to let her emotions truly hit her, to let them take away any semblance of hope she had harbored.  
    The horse scent, the smell of hay and equestrian, of sweat and leather, no longer brought her comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is an AU, I've made the tale a little darker, and Éowyn is therefore a little darker as well. It's interesting to write, having Éowyn struggle with hatred/love of her people, but also morality and the ethics of warfare.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm also envisioning a spy AU with rival once-merged companies of Gondor and Rohan. With Mordor/Sauron as the big foreboding technology company that has a flash drive full of cyber weaponry. And of course, you have four teenage boys (hobbits) come across this flash drive, and they must destroy it. With the help of Gimli the weapons dealer, Legolas the political spy, and Aragorn the rogue spy. All with some Gondor/Rohan rivalry going on. Oh, how I love AUs.  
> This is why I shouldn't write late at night.


	3. Chapter 3

    The sun was setting over the plains of Rohan, dusting the jutting rocks with a reddish glow and painting the fields the color of fire. It was beautiful, so completely peaceful and harmonious.There was no establishment for miles around, leaving the landscape pure from the touch of man.  
    Eomer wished his presence in the wilderness of Rohan were under such dire circumstances, for then he would have time to truly savor the land and all it provided his people, rather than fret for its tumultuous future.  
    He gathered his riders around him, counting the helms of the men surrounding him. No more than thirty men had followed him, trusting Eomer with their lives. It was a show of the dangerous future ahead for the horsemen.  
    “We will camp here for the night.” Eomer announced to his men, watching the concerned glances they shot one another, worry clear on their faces. His men were brave, trustworthy and noble, or they would not have followed Eomer after his banishment from their home. But Eomer could see the questioning looks between them.  
    “Is it safe enough here, Eomer?,” The rider nearest to him asked, his dark eyes showing hesitation with his words. The man, Grimbold, had taken a position of Eomer’s right hand over the course of the past few weeks; he had served as a loyal companion to Theodred up until his death, and had made an easy choice in following his cousin upon banishment.  
    “There are few forests in the nearby lands, and none that we could make upon nightfall.” Eomer acknowledged, staring off into the distance, intent upon the horizon.       “And to travel through nightfall would be sure to bring enemies upon us, enemies unseen.”  
    His men around him nodded, the feeling of unease dissipating slightly. It was not the best of situations, but nothing was nowadays.  
    And so they set up camp, feeling the vulnerability of the night sky above them and the stretching plains around them, no cover in sight.

\------------------------

    The eored usually filled the cold evenings with warmed cups of mead and cheery song, as was custom of Rohirrim culture. Around the warmth of a campfire was where the spirit of the horselords thrived.  
    But the past few weeks, departing from Edoras, had left a sour taste in every man’s mouth and an even worse omen looming in their thoughts. All cheer had quickly been swept away by the feeling of loneliness, the longing for home.  
    Eomer respected his men greatly, and his heart tugged when he thought of their sacrifice. Laying on his bedroll, glaring at the stars above him, he felt the sacrifice of the men around him. He hadn’t meant to damn them all to the outskirts of Rohan, but alas that seemed to be their fate.  
In truth, they were supposed to be pushed outside of the borders by now; Eomer wondered if Wormtongue would send another eored to ensure that the banishment had truly been followed through.  
    No, Eomer decided, he wouldn’t. It was impossible to keep him, and his men, out of their lands. The man was no fool, and he must know that these men would lose their lives before they lost their homeland.  
    A man beside him stirred, reaching for his sword; he stiffened, realizing his situation, awaking from a foul dream. He did not ease, but instead fell slowly back into the meager comfort of his bedroll, his eyes still staring lifelessly at the night sky. Eomer looked away.  
    “You snake, you foul creature,” Eomer had hissed at Wormtongue, finding him among the dark corridors of the Meduseld, a creature thriving in his welcome shadows. A filth among the halls of the Mark.  
Giving him a look of feigned shock, with only his eyes glaring hatred, the Worm had dared to question the new Prince.  
    “I know not of what you speak of, m’lord.” Grima insisted, wrapping his cloaks tighter around his fragile frame, trying to make himself seem more the victim. Every move he made had a plan, a purpose, and every word from his mouth a target.  
    "You poison the ears of my uncle, making him shun the rest of his kin!” Eomer growled in the night, his voice too loud for the slumbering halls. “And then I return from our borders to find that my sister has been stalked, her maids dismissed, her protection disappearing? Do not think I dismiss your lustful eyes, worm.”  
    "I do all for the glory of Rohan, m’lord.” Grima told him, his eyes darkening, his tongue dripping with a grim sarcasm. He looked the perfect representation of his namesake in that moment, clothed in the dark shadows of the corridor, whispering his lies to all that would hear. Eomer had found himself enraged, his blood turned to fire.  
    “Lies, all of it!” Eomer yelled, and in his fury, he had not heard the quiet footsteps of Grima’s guards approaching, surrounding the man in the darkness. “Who do you work for, snake? Who holds your loyalty? Is it the orcish roaming these lands? Is it the wizard in his tower? What drives you to such cruelty?”  
    Grima only chuckled, a quiet sound that came out of his body in a pained gasp, a disgusting noise to experience. His slimey smile stretched across his pale features.  
    "You think so little of me, sister-son of Theoden. Who is to say anyone holds my loyalty?” Grima questioned him back, finding a twisted sense of humor in the situation. He knew that he had Eomer’s fiery spirit at his fingertips, and he was simply prodding at it, playing like a cat with a injured mouse, deciding when to end it.  
    "Perhaps I am just so devoted to the cause?” Grima asked innocently, shrugging his gaunt shoulders about.  
    "Perhaps you do it all for power, for reward!” Eomer accused the man, stepping forward, looming over his little body. A look flitted across Grima’s face, fear at the sheer power and stature of Eomer; he was the son of kings, bloodline of the Mark. But Grima knew the power he had gathered.  
    “Perhaps I do, m’lord.” Grima considered. “I’ve found that the path to the throne is ripe for the taking, is it not?”  
    Eomer paused, his brow furrowing, the anger in his vein ceasing in order to process the worm’s perplexing words. The hidden meaning under it had just became apparent to him.  
    “Theodred.” Eomer whispered, shock plain on his features. It morphed, growing and changing into unrestrained, bloodlusting rage.  
    “You!” Eomer yelled, his voice echoing down the halls of the Meduseld as he lunged at the man, sending his limber body to the floor. The worm laughed, trembling under him in pain as the first blows were landed.  
    “You killed him, you fiend!” Eomer roared, smashing his fist into the side of his face, watching in pleasure as Grima cried out, the bones in his cheek crunching nicely. Blood poured from a new gash in his cheek, running bright scarlet down his pale, blemished cheek.  
    Eomer was still thrashing, kicking, screaming, and resisting as Grima’s men tried desperately to hold him back. Grima grinned at him from the floor, a fattened cat drunk on cream. He looked a poor sight, his face damaged and blood marring his cheeks, but still he smiled as if he won a great battle.  
    Eomer screamed curses, trying desperately to wrangle his way from the grips of the guards. He felt the stairs hit him, felt the rock tear at his back. He felt the chill of winter’s touch bite at his skin, felt the occasional shove by one of Grima’s soldiers. He heard the laughter of one soldier, one cowardly man who had shown loyalty only to Grima’s cruel cause. Eomer spat in his direction, adding to the desperation of his current state.  
    One soldier kicked him, digging a steel boot into his rib, enjoying the breaking of Eomer’s breath. Another threw him a punch to the eye, similar to the one he had delivered to the worm himself, yet lacking the pure furiosity Eomer had harnessed.  
    Eomer said nothing; a few months ago, with Theodred by his side, he may have cursed at them, may have highlighted their cowardice. But with his companion gone, and the current revelation of his death, he felt defeated.  
    They threw him in the stables, letting him land among the dirt at the feet of horses, letting the air be knocked from his lungs. They laughed at him once again, Prince of Rohan, bloodied and humiliated at the feet of his horses.  
    He had saddled Firefoot in a daze, his body accomplishing what his mind could not. He barely registered leaving the gates of Edoras, barely noted the piteous looks his people gave him, the ones still roaming the streets at the late hour. He could not say he cared.  
    Not far from the gates had he met the few riders that longed to follow him.  
    “No,” Eomer had said at once, his mind and body in humiliation. “I do not condemn my riders to the same fate.”  
    “Though I respect your orders,” Grimbold had said, giving the prince a strong look with his wise, wrinkled eyes. “We did not ask if we could come, Eomer. We are following our prince to the end of the world, if we must.”  
    It was that sort of companionship and loyalty that gave Eomer hope in the following weeks, that allowed him to sleep among the stars with his riders, far from the protection and kinship of Edoras. It allowed him to retain the idea that someday, they would all be back.  
Eomer worried for his sister throughout all of it. She had stumbled into his room when he first returned to Edoras, the day of his eventual banishment. Eowyn, ever the daring broad, had climbed up into his quarters, as unladylike and improper as could be.  
    Eomer smiled up at the stars, remembering the memory of his sister fondly.  
    She had been thinner than he’d seen her last, which was very concerning to him; she was a slight, limber creature to begin with, but she had been growing even smaller with the days at the Meduseld. Her eyes were devoid of its usual bright energy, and she seemed exhausted.  
    They had talked for hours, enjoying the reunion of kin; but still his sister was odd. She would not hold conversation well, and at certain topics, would glance around the room as if in deep thought.  
    He knew that Grima worried her, with his constant pursuits, but he did not worry about leaving her at Edoras. She was needed among her people, for they loved her dearly, more than even Eomer or Theodred. She was the jewel of their lands, one not easily pried from the crown.  
She was as strong as she was beautiful, and Eomer knew that she would have no issue fending off Grima, and perhaps even slowing his hand on the country.  
He knew this, for if she had actually been offended by the worm, Eowyn would have told her brother right away. Eomer told himself this with only slight doubt in his mind, a slight worry tugging at his heart.

\--------------------------

    Eowyn had a cat, a small, skinny thing covered in black, matted fur.  
    She did not like cats, even as a small child. Her heart belonged completely to the horses, not even sparing a bit for the other creatures. Though she treated them kindly, with a soft hand and a gentle heart, she did not love them as she did the horses, nor connect with them on such a level.  
    The poor kitten was not of her choosing, then, but had instead been forced upon her. It had decided itself kingly enough to rest upon the front of the Meduseld, which had greatly amused Hama. He was used to shooing away birds, or banishing stray dogs away from the steps. Most animals naturally strayed away from the royal halls, but this tiny, pathetic creature had decided itself fit enough to lounge about the sun that graced its front walkways.  
    And so, Hama had decided to give it to a young handmaiden of Eowyn’s, who fondly cared for the scrawny thing with a large, caring heart. It had became rather attached to her Lady, instead, much to her dismay.  
    It followed her around like a love-stricken boy, running at her ankles. The handmaiden had seemed horrified at first, apologizing profusely for bringing the animal in. But Eowyn had liked that maiden greatly, and she had honestly found the display of pride and overconfidence by the cat to be endearing. And so, it began inviting itself into her quarters on a daily basis, lounging on the sun-striped furs that graced her bed.  
    It became a constant sight in the Lady’s quarters, and consistency was pleasing to her in these times. A remnant of the older days.  
    With Eomer gone, Eowyn found little to do in the halls, a feeling of cold numbness capturing any emotions she had once expressed. She ate little, travelled little, and did little with her days. She longed for her sword, for her horse, for the lands beyond the gates of Edoras. She found none of those things.  
    It was one of the monotonous days that she found Odelyn in the halls. She had just seen a flash of light blonde hair around the corner of the Meduseld, and Eowyn assumed that the handmaiden was on a duty of her own, flitting around the house to accomplish it.  
     She liked to travel with her handmaiden these days, for the feeling of protection it brought her. It was but a mirage, but it soothed her. She knew that Grima would do what he wished, and Eowyn would have little say in it. He knew this as well, she knew. It was a dark waiting game, and Eowyn knew Grima was enjoying every last minute of it.  
    Eowyn rounded the corner, searching for Odelyn, only to find the young girl pressed against a stone wall, held back by a lumbering man she recognized as one of Grima’s close, personal guards.  
    Eowyn's blood roared in her ears, making the hall completely silent in her mind. Her pulse raced, her thoughts slowing, trudging through her mind, her limbs weak and still. She felt a sense of overwhelming remembrance, a memory forcing its way to the front of her mind, forcing her to relive.  
    Eowyn had moved before her mind caught up with her, intent on ensuring that Odelyn did not live through the same wrongdoings that had been forced upon her.  
    With all of her strength, and the weapon of surprise, Eowyn was pushing at the man, clawing at him, drawing blood beneath her fingernails. She slapped his face, feeling her hand sting with the force of the blow. She could have stopped there, could have ended the confrontation then and there. But instead, possessed by bottled fury, Eowyn continued to rip at him, to force pain upon him in the same way it had been forced upon her.  
    "M’lady, M’lady, Eowyn, oh Eowyn, please, let us go-” Odelyn pleaded, and Eowyn stopped, realizing her handmaiden was sobbing, fat tears marring her young face. Her words barely came out, her pleadings but strained gags.  
    The man in front of her was cradling his face, the blow across his cheeks, blood trickling down the cuts on his arms. Eowyn didn’t feel a thing.  
    Odelyn was tugging her along, through the household. Eowyn didn’t realize when her body hit her bed, back in her chambers. She barely felt her handmaiden’s face pressed into her hand, her tears wetting her skin.  
    Eowyn knew what was to come at some point, and she wondered how long it would be. This had to be the most aggressive move she had made, and like a game of chess, there would be repercussions to her actions. Her protection was gone, and now every move she made was akin to a treason.  
    Eowyn was not sure if she cared about repercussions any longer, but she could not feel much in those moments.

\------------------

    Grima found her later, rousing her to put on a clean, beautiful dress. He saw the bloodstains on her, the blood under her nails. He saw the look in her eyes, the lack of fear or guilt. He knew, he had to of known. But yet he acted as if nothing were wrong, as if he were a mere advisor to the king, on a duty to gather the Lady for a cheery dinner with her kin. It were as if Eomer and Theodred would be around the table once she arrived, already indulging in hearty mead and deep-throated chuckles.  
    Eowyn numbly sat through the dinner, not bothering to touch her meal unless Grima prompted her to; it all felt like nothing to her, like she was going through a dream, all at once a narrator and a bystander. Her body did not feel like her own.  
    She found the little black kitten on her bed that night, the sheets stained with its blood. Eowyn began to feel more in that moment, her emotions seeping back into her spirit with her dread. The little kitten, once kingly and proud, overconfident in its steps, would breathe no more.  
    Eowyn faced her punishment through the pain of others.

\-------------------

    The eored travelled far that day, taking another route into the heart of Rohan. They never did stray too far from the capital, but rather traced its way around the lands neighboring it. It was a reflection of their hopeful nature which they contained with restrained acceptance.  
    Eomer was surprised to see no orcish kind that day; in their previous travels, they happened among small bands of orcs, and occasionally the stray pack of wargs, but they slew their enemies with ease. But today, the lands were unusually silent, the sun beating down on the backs of the riders. The wind whipped across the sloping lands, chapping their skins.  
    “Sir!” A young rider said, his voice barely reaching the maturity of a man, still hesitant to deepen. He was limber and his horse reflected his youthful nature, which allowed him to scout in front of the eored.  
    He had rushed to Eomer, his breath coming out in small, short gasps, his bright eyes alert with worry.  
    "Speak, child.” Eomer had commanded, his heart clenched.  
    “It is a party of four men travelling along the ridge about twenty miles east of here,” The young man exclaimed, allowing the party of eored to look among themselves, breaking into whispers.  
    “Do they have horses? Packs? Travelling carriages?” Eomer inquired, his curiosity intrigued.  
    “No, and that is what alarmed me. They bring only themselves, it seems, and they look battle-hardened.” He reported.  
    "We will meet them before they reach our capital lands.” Eomer announced to his eored, glaring against the bright glint of the sunny skies. With all of the infiltrating parties roaming his lands, Eomer thought that nothing good could come of four men wandering Rohan, lacking proper travelling supplies and motives.


End file.
